World in Us
by Swiss Army Knife
Summary: To Ryoma, confrontation was the pattern of the world. Then there was Momoshiro Takashi. Chapter Summary: Ryoma prepares to leave for the U.S. Open, but goodbyes are especially difficult when you have to leave people behind.
1. First Impression

Author's Note: Something that always intrigued me about Ryoma was the way his personality combines confident prodigy with antisocial loner, especially at the beginning of the series. He picks fights wherever he goes, and people tend to resent him or put him on a pedestal. Momoshiro, on the other hand, does neither. Maybe even more significantly, they spend time together outside the realm of tennis. I have to wonder if Ryoma was even aware such a thing was possible before he came to Seigaku. Which got me thinking: how hard was it for Ryoma to make a real friend? These stories are episodes on that journey.

 **World in Us  
** By Swiss Army Knife

* * *

 **Chapter One:  
** First Impression

Summary: Momoshiro Takeshi is Ryoma's second duel on Japanese soil, but things aren't exactly as they seem.

" _I don't chase anyone anymore. Wanna walk out of my life, there's the door._ _Hell, I'll even hold it for you." -_ **Wiz Kalifa**

* * *

The school bell was just fading as Ryoma crunched down the path, tugging at the collar of his new uniform in the stifling summer heat. His hand moved to his shoulder and the familiar weight of his gear. After so much strangeness, he could hardly wait for the predictable rules and boundaries of the court. He was so focused that he didn't notice there was someone else on the path until they ran into each other.

"Oof," the stranger said, and Ryoma found himself facing an older student with hair swept up around his ears. His eyes traveled to the bag Ryoma was carrying. "Big bag for a little guy."

Ryoma glared. It was always about his age or his height.

"You look like a freshman, so no harm done, I guess." The upperclassman gave Ryoma a wink, and for just a second his eyes flashed like thin silver fish darting through a stream. "Just look where you're going from now on, eh?"

Ryoma watching his retreating back, annoyed. The classmate who had been trailing him – Hayato? Horatio? – heaved a sigh of relief. "Gee, Echizen. You could be a bit more respectful."

Ryoma didn't deign to reply. It was his first day back, and he was already sick to death of Japanese-style hierarchy.

It didn't surprise him at all when they reached the tennis courts and two sophomores decided to throw their weight around. Ryoma didn't really care about his classmates' money, but he couldn't stand bullies. One shot was all it took to knock over the can and spill its contents, revealing their dishonesty. Frankly, the look on their faces was worth the possibility of a few bruises. However, something unexpected happened before it could go that far.

Ryoma heard the pop of the ball as it came out of nowhere, hitting the container and sending it skittering away. It was a powerful and accurate shot – almost as good as his own. Better in some ways. Ryoma wasn't sure he could dent the can.

A familiar voice spoke: "Oh, I hit it. Lucky!"

It was the boy from earlier, the one Ryoma had walked into. He strode onto the court like it was familiar territory, and the two sophomores became nervous. One of them stammered, "Momoshiro! What are you doing here?"

Momoshiro's expression darkened. "Just because the seniors aren't here doesn't mean you can bully the freshmen, Arai."

Surprised to find himself a bystander, Ryoma took the opportunity to study Momoshiro. In his sports jersey with his hand wrapped around his racket, he was much easier to read. He was confident, but not arrogant. Well-conditioned, too, but he stood with a certain stiffness – oh.

Apparently unwilling to mess with Momoshiro, the bullies decided to beat a hasty retreat. Ryoma watched them go and tilted his head up, catching those silver-fish eyes again. They took on an edge when Ryoma headed toward the gate. "Who said you could go?"

Which was how Ryoma ended up in his second duel on Japanese soil, something he was beginning to suspect would end up a habit. Annoyed, he adjusted his stance. Then, partially out of pique and partially to show exactly what he was capable of, he fired a twist serve that went directly at Momoshiro's face. He heard the intake of breath from the sidelines. An adult was there, standing beside a woman with a camera. He obviously recognized the technical skill of such a shot. Momoshiro did, too, because afterward he gave Ryoma a thoughtful look over the net.

Ryoma smirked. As always, it was too easy.

Except Momoshiro got his racket on the following serve. Then, with the next, he scored.

Ironically, it was only then that Ryoma realized Momoshiro wasn't taking this seriously. It was the audience that made Ryoma sure. Except to extend an offer for the freshmen to call him by some ridiculous nickname, Momoshiro acted like they weren't there. He didn't seem bothered by the mistakes he made either, and now he denounced his first successful return with another jovial, "Lucky!"

If he had any lingering doubt, it was gone by the time he switched to his dominate hand. Momoshiro's eyebrows went up, there was a twitch of understanding, and then he forfeit. That was confirmation of what Ryoma was beginning to suspect: "Momo-chan" might mask himself with a grin, but beneath that was a sly nature. Out of the ankle brace, he might even make a decent opponent.

Despite himself, Ryoma was intrigued.

They didn't get a chance to talk. Ryoma was quickly surrounded by the freshmen and the reporters, all of whom were eager to recap his performance. By the time he turned around, Momoshiro was gone.

' _Good riddance,'_ he thought. Even if Momoshiro seemed a step above the others and had a few unexpected qualities, their age difference meant they would probably barely brush shoulders. Besides, once it became clear that Ryoma stood a chance at stealing away a coveted regular position, any possibility of friendly relations would quickly sour.

There was no real use in wasting time with Momoshiro Takashi.


	2. Sick Day

**Chapter Two:  
** Sick Day

Summary: Momoshiro does his duty, bringing Ryoma his homework. Then he sticks around.

"' _Stay'_ _is a charming word in a friend's vocabulary."_ \- **Amos Bronson Alcott**

* * *

Perplexed, Ryoma looked at the handful of papers being offered to him. "You're not even in my class," he rasped. It was all he could think to say.

Momoshiro tossed the homework sheets down on the floor beside an embarrassingly large pile of used tissues. They had overflowed the wastebasket sometime in the night, but Ryoma felt too sick to deal with it. "Asking wasn't hard," Momo said, shrugging off his efforts. "Besides, somebody needed to check on you."

Ryoma drew the blankets closer, eyes narrowing with comprehension. It was that senpai thing again. As if being a year ahead of someone really made so much of a difference. "Thanks, I guess," he mustered, ignoring how guttural the congestion made him sound.

Momo tossed a tissue at him. "Don't stand on ceremony with me," he said, and then he thumped down on the bed, giving the blankets a kick. "Move your legs, Echizen. I know you're sick, but show some manners!"

Maybe it was the fever, but even as Ryoma drew up his knees, he was still struggling to understand. Momoshiro had done his duty, so why was he still here? With an effort, he asked, "Aren't you going to leave?"

"Nope! I'm gonna keep you company for awhile," Momo answered. He found a stuffed cat wedged between the mattress and held it up. "Really, Echizen?"

Ryoma snatched the old toy out of his hand. However, incredulity was still overpowering most of his senses, and the strongest rebuke his uncooperative mouth managed was a lame indictment. "You'll get sick, too."

Momo dismissed this concern with a wave of his hand. "Me? No way. Momoshiro Takeshi is too tough for germs."

Then he launched into a drawn out version of what had happened at practice that day. Apparently, Inui had designed some new training regimen that involved moving tire swings. "Kaidoh missed and fell flat on his face. He had to drink this disgusting purple stuff, and then he passed out afterward! Of course," Momo boasted. "I made it through unscathed."

"You couldn't hit the broad side of a barn, Senpai," Ryoma teased. _Teased._ Like they weren't just acquaintances who happened to play on the same team.

Of course, Momo responded with a bluster of protest and a long-winded dissertation on his many, many talents. It should have been annoying. Yet as Ryoma listened, his feet wedged against Momoshiro, he felt his headache slipping away. Before he knew it, he was half asleep. He didn't even notice when Momo tossed the stuffed cat into his arms, grabbed the full garbage can, and finally left the room.

* * *

Author's Note: If you have the time, please pause to write a few words in the review box. I'd love to hear a line that suck out to you or some other comment. Thank you!


	3. Texting

**Chapter Three:  
** Texting

Summary: True friends are the ones you can text in the middle of the night.

" _Why is it," he said, one time, at the subway entrance, "I feel I've known you so many years?"  
"Because I like you," she said, "and I don't want anything from you." _― **Ray Bradbury** , **Fahrenheit 451**

* * *

Ryoma stretched his toes, feeling them push against twisted sheets. Beside him, the curtains moved, stirred by a breeze that had hardly cooled even hours after the sun had set. Any sensible person would have been asleep long ago, but for some reason he couldn't.

His phone was sitting on the floor, plugged into the wall. Until recently, it had been programmed with only three numbers: his father's, mother's, and Nanako's. Then there had been the match with Gyokurin and a failed attempt at doubles. Hamburgers and late evenings playing tennis until the overhead lights finally burned out. Somewhere in the middle of all that, Momoshiro had grabbed Ryoma's unattended phone, flipped it open, and punched in his contact information. "In case you want to call me," he'd said.

Now, for some reason, Ryoma's fingers twitched toward his phone, but he withdrew. ' _He's asleep,'_ he told himself. Then he turned his back to the nightstand, wrapped his arms around himself. Closed his eyes –

And then turned over again and picked up the phone. "I'm bored," he typed and pressed the send button before he could change his mind. Afterward he lay in the dark, scowling. It was _one o'clock in the morning_ , and Momo-senpai would never –

The phone chimed. "You still up?"

Surprise made his response easier. "Can't sleep. You?"

"English test tomorrow." The answer was followed by a cheeky-looking emoticon with a sweat drop. Really, it was probably exactly like the face that Momo-senpai was wearing.

A grin tugged at the edge of Ryoma's mouth. Relaxing into his pillow, he wrote: "Cramming never works, Senpai."

An almost immediate beep, like a witty retort: "Tell that to my grade point average."

The messages went back and forth: stupid things, nothing things. ' _Don't get used to it,'_ Ryoma told himself as he finally began to drift off. Everyone left eventually. What did it matter if they'd won one doubles match together? Momoshiro wouldn't be any different than the rest. It was just a matter of time.


	4. Inside View

**Chapter Four:  
** Inside View

Summary: Everyone has plans after practice is over. Ryoma listens from the outside.

" _Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind.  
'Pooh!' he whispered.  
'Yes, Piglet?'  
'Nothing,' said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw. 'I just wanted to be sure of you.'"_  
― **A.A. Milne** , **The House at Pooh Corner**

* * *

Afternoon practice ended early. Ryuzaki-sensei had an appointment, and she left orders for only an hour of conditioning before excusing everyone for the rest of the day. Now that it was finished, everyone was changing, excited about their plans for the extra free time.

Ryoma listened to them talking while he pulled on fresh socks. Oishi and Eiji were in the middle of an animated conversation about a trip to the aquarium. Fuji was going to help Taka-san clean out a storage room in his father's restaurant. Even Inui was muttering under his breath about getting to the library in time to met an old friend.

"How about you, Mamushi?" Momoshiro asked as he wobbled on one foot, trying to tie his shoe. "You busy?"

Kaidoh gave a grunt of annoyance as Momo lost his balance and fell against him. Giving his rival a shove, he snapped, "As if I'd spend any extra time with you."

Momo finally knelt so that he could get to his laces in a sensible fashion. "So you _are_ busy."

Ryoma, fishing a towel out of his bag, found himself listening intently.

Kaidoh blew air out through his lips. "My brother and I are going jogging."

"Oh," Momo said. "He must be getting pretty big. Big enough for tennis with his bro?"

For once, Kaidoh's pained expression didn't seem directed at Momoshiro. "He plays baseball."

" _What?!_ "

Tuning out the back-and-forth of their usual faux-antagonistic banter, Ryoma attempted to focus solely on zipping his bag and not the odd feeling of isolation that had reared up, even among the members of his team. He berated himself for the knot in his stomach. It wasn't like it was unusual, and anyway –

"Echizen!" Ryoma looked up and found Momoshiro standing over him. It seemed he'd finally managed to get his shoe on the right foot, and his bag was thrown carelessly over one shoulder. "Looks like it's just gonna be you and me."

Confusion clouded Ryoma's face. "What?"

"We could go to that burger joint from before and then hit the park or something." Momoshiro's face fell somewhat. "Don't tell me you've got other plans, too."

"No." The words practically jumped out of his mouth. Just as quickly as it had formed, the knot in Ryoma's stomach untied itself. He lifted the bill of his cap. "I'm not busy."

Momoshiro hauled his teammate to his feet. "Great! Let's get going, then. I'm starving."

"You're always starving," Kaidoh grumbled in the background

Momoshiro glared over his shoulder as they headed for the door. "Gee. I'm a growing boy."

"Whatever you say, Momo-senpai," Ryoma said as they emerged into the afternoon sunshine. The other members of his team were already spreading out, heading for their own activities. Talking, joking, laughing. Ryoma observed them while Momo unhooked his bicycle.

The view was a lot different, he found, when you weren't standing out the outside looking in.


	5. Ordering for Two

**Chapter Five:  
** Ordering for Two

Summary: Ryoma worries he's getting too attached to Momoshiro when he's able to guess his fast food order.

" _It is more fun to talk with someone who doesn't use long, difficult words_ _but rather short, easy words like 'What about lunch?'" -_ **A.A. Milne**

* * *

The tray placed on the counter was loaded with food. Three burgers, a large drink. A chicken wrap, a towering mound of fries. "That's an awful lot for one person," the cashier commented, smiling as she passed it carefully into his waiting hands.

Ryoma considered telling her that it wasn't just for him. When they arrived at the restaurant, Momoshiro had shoved a handful of bills into his fist and then disappeared back out the glass door, shouting over his shoulder, "Back in a minute, Echizen!"

The line wasn't long, so Ryoma had gone ahead and ordered. Now as he stared down at the massive amount of food it occurred to him that he hadn't even hesitated. How was it that he knew exactly what Momo would order?

As he wandered over to a booth, the idea continued to nag at him. All his life, he'd taken care of himself. Was it really a good idea to let himself get so attached to the idea of having a – a what? A friend?Ryoma's nose wrinkled at the thought. It wasn't that he'd never made any attempts, of course. However, the walls had always been too high. Sometimes it was ego. Other times it was resentment or physical distance or differing interests. Tennis had always been Ryoma's priority. In some ways, there just hadn't been time for anything else.

' _And yet you know his burger order,'_ he thought. As banal as that was, it meant he'd been letting himself get to know Momoshiro outside of the team. Was it something he was willing to risk?

At that moment, Momoshiro slammed down a sweating Ponta in front of Ryoma. "Got your drink, Echizen."

The appearance of the beverage was unexpected. Staring, Ryoma heard himself ask, "Where did you get that?"

Momoshiro was already peeling back the wrapper of his first sandwich. He reached for a red packet on the tray. "You don't like the soda they have here," he said. "But there's a vending machine just across the road. I saw it on the way in."

Ryoma stared down at the aluminum can of his favorite drink. His voice felt a little hoarse, and he had to clear his throat before speaking. "How did you know I'd like this?"

His mouth already full of food, Momo took a drink from his own cup and then grinned a ketchupy grin. "You're not a complicated guy, Echizen."

Ryoma toyed with the tab on the can before popping it open. Despite the coolness of the condensation on the aluminum, he felt warm. "I guess not."


	6. Compromise

**Chapter Six:  
** Compromise

Summary: Ryoma is bored and wants to hit the courts, but is it fair for things to always be about tennis?

" _You can't stay in your corner of the Forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes." -_ _ **A.A. Milne**_

* * *

It was Saturday, and for the first time in ages there were no matches. Ryoma hung over the edge of his bed, head and arms dangling. He was bored. As always, his eyes strayed to his tennis bag, propped in a corner. He'd left it unzipped last night, and he could just see the handle of his racket.

Ryoma groaned. Even when he got a break, all he really wanted was to play tennis. For some reason, though, he had no desire to hit against a blank wall. He wanted an opponent. Or maybe not an opponent –

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone and stared at it, thumbing the edges. He didn't need to make a call, really. His father was right downstairs, and it was never hard to provoke him into a battle. Yet that wasn't the kind of companionship that Ryoma wanted.

Momoshiro. He would play with him. But was it fair for things to always be about tennis?

Resultantly Ryoma texted, "Do you want to see a movie?"

Afterwards, his head thumped backward, banging against the side of his bed. Why was everything related to people so complicated? He could handle a movie. Momoshiro had really been trying. Ryoma could make an effort, too –

The phone chimed. "A movie sounds fun," it said, then almost immediately a new bubble showed up. "Tennis after?"

When Ryoma read the message, his fingers involuntarily folded over it, and he drew the phone close. It was a strange feeling, being understood.

* * *

Author's Note: I believe this is the shortest chapter, but though I debated skipping it, I decided I just couldn't leave it out. Reciprocation is an important part of friendship, after all. In compensation, here is a preview of future attractions: Sneaky Nanjiro snaps some candid pictures. Then Ryoma takes offense to Rokkaku's Bane and David edging in on his territory. Then he and Kaidoh team up when an old threat looms. Afterwards, there's a hospitalization. Finally some English training occurs, and finally there's a bittersweet goodbye. I hope you'll pop into the comments and let me know what you think going forward.


	7. Candid Camera

**Chapter Seven:  
** Candid Camera

Summary: Sometimes you need mementos of a milestone, even one as simple as being comfortable with a friend.

 _"A friend is one that knows you as you are, understands where you have been, accepts what you have become, and still, gently allows you to grow."_ _ **-**_ _ **William Shakespeare**_

* * *

It had been a long afternoon practice complete with Inui's healthful juices; however, summer had arrived, and even after they were finished the sun was still high. A breeze was blowing, and good smells were on its breath: grass and asphalt and grey-green clay. On an evening like that, it was natural to want to play more tennis, and – just their luck – there was a tournament going on at their favorite street court.

A doubles tournament.

If it had been anybody else, Ryoma would never have agreed. However, he remembered just the tone in which Momo cajoled him: "Come on, Echizen. Please?"

Afterwards they'd stumbled back to Ryoma's house, shoving each other and bickering over who'd gotten in the best shot. "You two are in an awfully good mood," Nanako commented as she set out an extra plate.

Momo, whose hair was still sticking up in wild directions after washing up, was the one who answered. "Yeah. We kicked butt today," he said, licking his lips appreciatively when Nanako placed an especially large helping of pork cutlet on his plate. "Echizen and I make a great team."

Ryoma winced at the wording, and sure enough his father lowered the newspaper he had been pretending to read. "You don't mean it was doubles."

"Well, sure," Momo said, like it was no big deal. He thrust his thumb back at himself. "I happen to be great at doubles."

Nanjiro raised a knowing eyebrow at his son, but Ryoma just shrugged. It hadn't been so bad. These days, they didn't even need to fall back on embarrassing strategies. He reached for the milk. "Momo-senpai and I are going to work on homework after dinner."

His mother smiled with fondness at Momoshiro, who was devouring his food at a rate that couldn't possibly be healthy. "Okay, darling. Don't stay up too late."

It turned out that wasn't much of a problem. By the time they actually got to the homework, they'd worn through most of their energy. Momo was practically nodding off the moment they slid down to the floor. He shoved their shoulders together. "You played good today, Echizen."

Ryoma sniffed. "I suck at doubles, and you know it."

Momo opened a lazy eye, smirking. "You play fine with me."

Ryoma ignored him, reaching instead for his bag. He refused to surrender anything like a compliment – even if Momo had improved to an impressive degree. ' _Like me_ ,' Ryoma acknowledged. Celebrating a doubles victory wasn't something he could have imagined a year ago. He still preferred singles, but it did feel good, having at least one person he could share a court with.

He turned to hand Momo a pencil, only to find that the other boy had fallen asleep. Ryoma considered giving him a shove and sending him home, but decided not to. He was tired and comfortable, so when the pencil started to slip from lax fingers, Ryoma just let it go and sunk against his friend until his eyes drifted shut.

A flashbulb startled him awake. He opened crusted eyelids and found Nanjiro cackling, holding a camera in his face. Momoshiro woke up as Ryoma chased the man out of the bedroom. He rubbed his eyes. "What was that about, Echizen?"

"Nothing," Ryoma grunted.

Nanjiro had the 'precious' photograph printed and handed out copies, which made his mother and Nanako coo. Ryoma snatched the one his father waggled in his face and stalked off. What he told no one was that he hadn't gotten rid of it. It could be found in the bottom of his tennis bag, tucked between two pages of _Doubles for Beginners_.

* * *

Next Chapter: When it comes to friendship, Ryoma is a five-year-old who doesn't like sharing. This becomes clear when Rokkaku's Bane and David invite themselves to hang out.


	8. Not Sharing

**Chapter Eight:  
** Not Sharing

Summary: Ryoma isn't used to having a friend, but now that he has one, he certainly isn't interested in sharing with a bunch of outsiders.

" _If you're mine, you're mine; I'm not sharing you with anyone else."_ _ **\- Valentine's Day Card**_

* * *

They were sitting in the burger restaurant when it happened. Momo looked over Ryoma's shoulder, a French fry hanging out of his mouth, and said, "Hey, it's those guys from Rokkaku."

Indeed it was. Kurobane Harukaze and his red-headed doubles partner, Amane "David" Hikaru. Upon entering, they immediately spotted the two Seigaku players and broke into simultaneous smiles. They didn't even wait for an invitation before sauntering over and sliding into the booth.

"Yo," Bane said. He slung his lanky arm around Momoshiro's shoulders, and Ryoma felt his grip tighten on his sandwich. He flatly ignored the greeting thrown in his own direction.

Momoshiro, on the other hand, was amicable as always. "You guys! How's the old man and that freshman captain of yours?"

"Everyone's doing alright, but Kentaro is having to sit out a bit. Turned his ankle last week."

"He suffered the agony of defeat," David said, and then sputtered with amusement. " _Feet_."

Bane looked seconds away from violence, but Momo barked with laughter. "That was a pretty good one, eh, Echizen?"

Ryoma thought the pun had been an abomination, so unfunny as to be embarrassing, but David just leaned forward eagerly. "We saw you play Rikkaidai and use that crazy overhead shot! I can't believe you were holding out on us."

Momo rubbed the back of his neck. "Actually I worked on that at camp. It was after we faced you."

"You didn't need it for them," Ryoma said, which won him a pair of disgruntled glares.

Momo gave Ryoma an exasperated look then steered the conversation in a less antagonistic direction. "Next time we play, I'm sure we'll have be able to test each other's new skills."

"How about now," Bane suggested. "There's a park not far from here."

"Doubles?" David offered hopefully.

"I don't play doubles," Ryoma said, setting aside his sandwich, which had somehow become nothing but messy bits of meat and bread.

"Come on," said Bane, mostly to Momoshiro. "You can't deny us a peek at that new shot. Besides, its been ages. Can't you spare the time for a friend?"

Ryoma felt a familiar knot in his stomach, but Momo was already shrugging. "I don't see why we can't all hang together."

"Great!" Bane said, slapping Momo's back. "At least we won't be bored."

"Maybe he wood," said David, and blew air through his lips. " _Board_."

As David dodged his teammates punitive kick, Ryoma made one final attempt to stymie this turn of events. "Don't you have your bike with you, Momo-senpai? You'd have to take it home."

"If he does that he might be two-tired to join us," David responded. Then he cried out as Bane's heel finally caught him in the eye.

Despite the puns, the situation seemed settled. Ryoma was forced to trail along the sidewalk while David and Bane bracketed Momoshiro on either side. Ryoma glared holes into the back of their heads, hating every joke, and especially every time Bane reached out and shoved Momo or punched his arm.

Finally they reached the park where they found an open court. For a while, they just messed around. Finally, though, David and Momo started up a game, leaving Bane standing near where Ryoma was sitting with an untouched Ponta dangling from his fingers.

The older boy leaned against the wall. "That Momo is really something," he said, watching the sophomore send a dunk smash flying past Davis's face. He crossed his arms. "Does he even have a limit?"

Not that Ryoma was aware of. Seigaku was exceptional in that way. Its members weren't always the most skilled or the most experienced, but they had a way of forcing past barriers that had been an education to Ryoma. Momoshiro actually seemed to do better in matches were he was outclassed, and, though he didn't have the visual acuteness that Ryoma possessed, he did have an instinct for reading other people that often made up for it. Moreover, Momo got along with everyone. Only Kaidoh seemed immune to his goodwill, and even those two managed to be close despite their rivalry. In short, Momo could have any friends he wanted. But he had chosen to eat hamburgers with Ryoma, to spend their time outside of school together, to text each other on the phone.

' _It matters,'_ Ryoma reassured himself. It mattered, and he refused to ignore an opponent because of something as unimportant as civil inter-school relations.

Two girls were just finishing up on an adjacent court; there was an empty space beside them. "Let's have a match," Ryoma initiated, drawing his racket deliberately from his bag.

"Sure," Bane said gamely. "It'll be fun to –"

Ryoma interrupted him before he could finish. "No."

Bane stopped, eying the younger boy with unusual perception before glancing over at Momoshiro. "Stakes, then?"

A hard grin was the only answer.

Afterward, while Bane tried to get his breath back, he commented, "It doesn't have to be all or nothing, you know. Or are you still too much of a kid to share?"

Shoving his hat down further over his forehead to hide the fierce triumph on his face, Ryoma didn't answer.

* * *

Next Chapter: On a dark night at the park, Kaidoh points out a watching stranger to Ryoma and lets him in on a Momoshiro-related problem he's not sure how to handle.


	9. Unexpected Ally

**Chapter Nine:  
** Unexpected Ally

Summary: Kaidoh makes Ryoma aware of a lingering threat.

" _Do not protect yourself with a fence, but rather by your friends."_ _ **\- Czech Proverb**_

* * *

"Echizen."

Ryoma lowered his drink and glanced toward his teammate. He and Kaidoh were sitting at the edge of the court space in the park, waiting for their turn. It wasn't really dark yet, but the sounds of skateboard wheels and teenage voices were beginning to mix with the buzz of overhead lights and chirping crickets.

"Yeah, Kaidoh-senpai?"

The older boy had already finished playing a match and his hair was sticking to his forehead beneath his bandana, yet it was the deep line between his eyes that drew Ryoma's attention. "You see that?" he asked, inclining his chin.

Ryoma looked onto the court where Momo's opponent was already backed into a corner. "I give it five minutes," he commented, turning back to his drink.

Kaidoh grabbed his arm. "Not on the court. The other side, on the path. He's wearing a leather jacket."

Ryoma did as directed, looking into the tree-lined courtyard beyond the street court. The area was shadowed, but with an effort, Ryoma saw what Kaidoh meant him to see. There was a man there, tall, with his hair slicked back. It was too far to see his face, but when an incendiary pinprick burned – cigarette – it was enough to give the momentary impression of fox-like eyes, dark and intent.

Shifting, Ryoma adjusted the bill of his cap. He didn't like the vibe that guy was giving off. Beside him, Kaidoh seemed to feel the same. His hands, clasped in front of him, were white at the knuckles. "That guy came up to me and Momoshiro on our way home once."

A uneasy thrill of emotion went through Ryoma. "What did he want?"

"He tried to get Momoshiro into a car with him."

The uneasiness in Ryoma intensified. "You think –"

Kaidoh pushed off his bandana so that he could run restless fingers through his hair. "Yeah. It shot my nerves all to hell."

Ryoma wasn't an idiot, and he traveled too often in an adult world not to have his wits about him. But friendly, easy-going Momo, who always thought the best of people... Ryoma asked, "What did you do?"

"Insisted we leave. Acted like I'd make a lot of trouble. They backed off."

"They?"

"There were some other guys," Kaidoh admitted, and Ryoma set down the can he was holding. If he took another sip, he would throw up.

It occurred to him that Kaidoh wouldn't ordinarily have accompanied them tonight. He liked to jog in the evening, and yet here he was, for the second time this week. "Have you seen that guy since then?"

"Maybe once at school. Late, after practice."

Ryoma shot him a hard look. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Kaidoh looked down. "It was just for a second. I thought I was being paranoid, but –"

They looked again at the bright dot under the trees, and Ryoma found the hair on his arms standing up. "You're sure it's him?"

Kaidoh didn't answer right away. "That night –" He couldn't bring himself to finish, swallowing instead. "Just do me a favor, Echizen. Keep an eye out, alright? And don't let that moron walk home by himself."

Ryoma stared hard at the figure. Was that man watching the court where Momo was playing? He looked at Kaidoh, who was so tense his muscles were bunching. The evidence of how much he cared, despite the way he and Momoshiro bickered, made Ryoma feel infinitesimally better. He decided to let Kaidoh in on his decision.

"I'm going to tell my dad."

Kaidoh flinched. "Will he listen? Even though you can't prove it?"

Echizen Nanjiro was a lot of things, but even though he called Momoshiro a mouthy punk, a brat with no respect for his elders, there was absolutely no way he would take lightly even the possibilityof someone messing with him. "Yeah," Ryoma said with certainty. "He will."

Kaidoh considered, eyes locked on the court from which Momoshiro's boisterous voice could be heard echoing all over the park. Undoubtedly, he was totally locked into what he was doing, entirely oblivious to the unseen observer or his two friends, keeping their wary watch. Kaidoh nodded decidedly. "Then tell him."

Ryoma said, "As soon as we walk Momo-senpai home."

"Right to the damn door," Kaidoh agreed, and then they both sat back on their hands and alternated watching Momoshiro's match and the bright red dot in the gathering dark until it faded completely and disappeared.

* * *

Author's Note: This chapter refers back to chapter 21 of my other _Prince of Tennis_ story, "Jump Spirit". In it, Momoshiro and Kaidoh run into some older guys who try to entice Momoshiro into riding along with them.

Next Chapter: Ryoma picks a fight, as usual, and Momo gets hurt.


	10. Head Injury

**Chapter Eleven:  
** Head Injury

Summary: Ryoma picks a fight, as usual, but this time Momoshiro is the one who gets hurt.

 _"True friendship is a plant of slow growth and must undergo and withstand the shocks of adversity before it is entitled to the appellation."_ **\- George Washington**

* * *

Tezuka had his arm in a vice grip, which was the only thing holding him back. "I will handle this," he said in a voice tight with constraint. "Go back and wait for the ambulance."

Wrenching free, Ryoma glared past his captain to the coward responsible for all this. He stood with his teammates, face creased with panic. He was worse than a bully, worse than a braggart. "I tripped" – those were the words that had come out of his lying mouth, but Ryoma knew what really happened.

He'd been taking a jog to warm up for their approaching match with Ginka Junior High when he happened across one of their seniors hitting a tennis ball against a wall and laughing. Every shot just barely missed his nervous audience, a group of younger students whose only defense was to shuffle closer to one another, looking intimidated.

Ryoma stopped mid-stride and headed over to the gathering, one hand shoved in his pocket. With the other, he picked up a stone and took aim. The rock hit just as the ball rebounded, sending it rolling down a long flight of stairs. The Ginka player, who Ryoma vaguely remembered was named Suzuki or something like that, whirled around to face him.

His eyes widened. "You again."

"Me again," Ryoma agreed, gratified to see how the older boy's face paled. He did like to make an impression.

One of the youngsters giggled, and Suzuki snarled at them to get lost. While the kids beat a hasty retreat, stumbling down the stairs to the park's lower level, he turned to Ryoma and demanded, "Why can't you just stay out of people's business?"

"Moronic behavior attracts my attention," Ryoma said. "But that's how you operate, isn't it? Throwing your weight around, picking on girls and little kids. It's too bad you don't have the skill to back it up. Today's match is going to prove it, too. That is, unless your team comes down with another tummy ache."

The reminder that Ginka had backed out of their last scheduled match was meant to be insulting, and it definitely hit home. "We had food poisoning," Suzuki muttered.

"Whatever," Ryoma said, putting forth zero effort to conceal his contempt.

Suzuki's shoulders sunk with shame, and the same harassed look he usually dispensed began creeping into his eyes. Good, thought Ryoma. He could still remember Sakuno's frightened face as she faced the Ginka team in search of her lost tennis ball. This guy and his friends had purposefully humiliated her. If anyone deserved to come down a peg, it was him and his teammates.

"You're a real jerk, you know that," Suzuki said in a sullen undertone.

"Better a jerk than a coward," Ryoma said.

Before things had a chance to devolve any further, Momoshiro came jogging up to them on the path. Undoubtedly, he'd been in the middle of his own circuit when he saw what was going on, and now he joined them with a wary look in his eye. One glance was all he needed to understand what was going on. "Geez, Echizen," he said. "Do you have to pick a fight everywhere we go?"

Ryoma knew the timing today was particularly bad. Off-court confrontation between rival players could result in disqualification, and Tezuka would kill him it Ryoma let that happened. He needed to walk away. The problem was that Ryoma couldn't let it go completely. He didn't stop smirking, and that was what finally pushed Suzuki over the edge.

"Wipe that sneer off your face, you arrogant shrimp!" he shouted.

Momo frowned. "Listen, whoever you are," he said sternly. "Why don't you save it for the match."

Ryoma couldn't help himself. "Don't waste your time, Senpai. If he has to scare a bunch of kids to feel big, then he doesn't have any higher sensibilities to appeal to."

That was when Suzuki lunged at him. He actually got one hand on Ryoma, fingers clawing at the front of his shirt, before Momoshiro intervened. What none of them counted on was Suzuki's reckless rage. He wasn't thinking anymore, certainly not about disqualification or his team or anything else, and when Momo got hold of him, he turned and shoved as hard as he could.

Ryoma had forgotten that they were at the top of a flight of stairs. Long, concrete steps with a metal railing. Momo caught the edge with one heel; the other found empty space. First there were sounds, like a sandbag being dropped. Then nothing, not even birdsong. A bystander called for help, but Ryoma was frozen. Suzuki wasn't even there. He'd _run away_.

Footsteps converged. "Momo!" Eiji screamed. Ryoma didn't look. Before he realized what he was doing, he moved toward the Ginka team, who were gathering to the side. That was when Tezuka had intervened.

"He _pushed_ him," Ryoma hissed his accusation to make sure his captain knew.

Tezuka answered, "Understood."

When Ryoma reached the bottom of the steps, his team was already gathered around Momoshiro, who was being supported by Oishi and a man in a yellow vest. The onsite medic was holding a pressure bandage beneath Momo's head, but it didn't seem to be working. The concrete was dark with blood.

"They don't want to move his neck," Eiji explained with a voice that cracked as he spoke. His auburn hair was a mess, tangled by nervous fingers.

"He'll be alright," Fuji insisted with steely composure.

Ryoma saw the looks on more knowing faces. Very quietly, Oisihi murmured, "Can you tell?"

"Not here," the paramedic answered.

Then Momoshiro moved, his fingers twitching. Behind scrapped and crusted lids, his eyes moved. The medic leaned closer. "Stay still, son. We don't know how badly you're hurt, but help is on the way."

His words didn't seem to register, because Momoshiro kept twitching, trying to manipulate uncoordinated fingers. Somehow, he gagged out a few syllables. "E-echi –"

"Echizen is here," Oishi answered, calm even in the middle of a crisis. He tugged Ryoma closer, but Ryoma felt like his voice was sealed.

"Say something," Kaidoh hissed at his back.

Finally, the grip on his throat loosened. "Momo-senpai?" he whispered. It was barely a sound, but even with his head broken open at the bottom of a flight of stairs, Momoshiro must have recognized it because one tiny slit opened. And because he knew exactly what question must be rattling around in that idiot head, Ryoma drew a congested breath and said, "I'm okay."

The paramedic sighed in relief. "He's more relaxed now."

The ambulance had been directed to them, and it pulled right up to the curb. Serious looking professionals piled out and stretched a collar around Momo's neck. As they began loading him, one asked, "Anyone riding along?"

Oishi put a hand on Ryoma's shoulder, but Ryoma asked, "Shouldn't you go with him?" After all, Oishi planned to be a doctor.

Their vice captain answered, "We'll meet you at the hospital. I'm going to call his parents."

Ryoma hesitated a moment longer, looking at Momo laid out on the stretcher. Then he stepped forward and allowed himself to be helped into the back of the vehicle.

* * *

Ryoma was sitting outside the hospital when Tezuka arrived. "They suspended Suzuki," he said. "The match has been postponed indefinitely, investigation pending. Their coach will almost certainly forfeit."

The information was presented so factually that it shouldn't have had such an emotional impact, yet Ryoma felt his hands closing into fists. Suspended? That was all?

Tezuka ducked his head, acknowledging what Ryoma had not said. However, it seemed he had something else on his mind. "There's something else we need to discuss."

Ryoma went rigid. "Oh?"

"You provoked that other player, didn't you?"

The guilt was so great it was like struggling in deep waters. Every time Ryoma breathed, he choked. Still, he tried to explain. "He was harassing a bunch of kids."

Tezuka looked at him as though he could read the entire encounter without being told. "So you decided to give him a taste of his own medicine."

His own medicine. The words stung. Begrudgingly, Ryoma answered, "Yes."

There was a moment in which neither of them spoke. Ryoma's silence was tinged with regret, but Tezuka's was thoughtful. Finally, the older boy spoke. "It's not wrong to have a strong sense of justice, but if you're not careful, you'll seek out confrontation for confrontation's sake."

Ryoma wanted to deny the accusation. Long ago, he had learned to accept his nature. When he found no acceptance from his peers, he had come to accept himself. The result wasn't always pretty, but he'd never considered what he did wrong.

Tezuka remarked, "Bullying a bully doesn't make it acceptable, Echizen."

Ryoma ran his hand though his bangs, but when the words he needed to speak failed, he found others instead. "Will you suspend me, too?"

Tezuka's next statement made no mystery of how he felt, and fortunately that incendiary tone was not directed at Ryoma. " _You_ didn't push Momoshiro down a flight of stairs." He glanced up at the building. "How is he?"

"Concussion. A gash that needed stitches. Scrapes and bruises. He was asking about pudding when I last saw him."

"That sounds like our Momoshiro," Tezuka commented, and shrouded as it was there was no mistaking the fondness. Momo, it seemed, had gotten through even Tezuka-bucho's thick skin.

"He stood up for me," Ryoma said suddenly. "That's the reason Suzuki pushed him."

"He'll always stand up for you," Tezuka replied. He adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose and looked Ryoma straight in the eye. "Something to think about next time."

Ryoma gazed right back. There wouldn't be a next time, not like this.

* * *

Next Chapter: Ryoma is determined to get Momoshiro ready for the international tennis scene, even if that means resorting to singing dinosaurs.


	11. English

**Chapter Eleven:  
** English

Summary: Ryoma attempts to teach Momo English so he'll be prepared to play tennis abroad, and if he has ulterior motives, what of it?

" _Tis the privilege of friendship to talk nonsense, and to have her nonsense respected."_ ― **Charles Lamb**

* * *

Of everyone, only his father really got it, though of course he expressed his approval in the most obnoxious way possible. "You still hanging around with that punk? I thought a son of mine would have better taste in friends."

Ryoma paused, his hand on the railing. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You like him," he accused.

There was a crumpling sound as Nanjiro glowered over the top of his magazine. "I _didn't_ say that. Do you really think you're going to cram anything useful into that fat head of his?"

Ryoma fought the desire to respond petulantly. After all, he knew very well what his father was doing. "He's not stupid."

"Could have fooled me," Nanjiro said, shaking out his pages and using them to cover his face. "Maybe you could use those old tapes we had when you were little."

"Those have talking dinosaurs," Ryoma said, not letting on that he had already considered it.

His father glanced at him with a knowing eye. "About at his level then, don't you think?"

Ryoma stomped up the stairs, if anything more determined than before. Momoshiro was waiting for him in his room, gazing at a workbook with a perplexed expression. "This isn't what we do at school," he commented. Then his eyes lit up. "Snacks!"

Shoving the platter in his friend's direction, Ryoma folded himself onto the floor and picked up the discarded book. "People in America talk about more than just their hobbies and the location of the nearest bathroom, you know."

Momoshiro swallowed with effort, already reaching for another orange slice. "Sure, sure. I just don't get why Ineed to know this extra stuff. Thanks to you, I'm already doing a lot better in class. I'm definitely going to pass."

Ryoma frowned. He was unwilling to give a direct answer, even though it really wasn't that complicated. One day Ryoma would going back to America, and when he went, he planned on getting visited. It only seemed fair, since Momoshiro had helped him acclimatize back to Japan. Besides, the wider world of tennis meant travel, and Ryoma had discovered that he was eager to share that.

He just had to get the nitwit ready. "Are you even paying attention?"

Momoshiro wilted. "I don't think I've got the brains for this kind of thing."

It wasn't true. On the court, Momo was crafty, technical, and strategic. Both friend and foe called him "Seigaku's number one rascal". So why couldn't he manage basic English pronunciation?

"Try again," he prompted.

"Aiamu rukingu foru corto shixsu."

"It's not 'shi', Senpai, it's 'sss'."

"My mouth doesn't work that way."

"Look at my teeth. See? They stay closed."

"Hee, hee. That's weird, Echizen."

Ryoma sat back. This was obviously going to take time and patience, but he was determined. He glanced back at the doorway. Maybe it wasn't too late to dig out those dinosaur tapes.

* * *

Author's Note: Momoshiro's English is modeled off of my well-meaning students. The Japanese language is happy to borrow foreign words, but the spelling is changed to fit the pattern of having a consonant paired with a vowel. This means there's a pretty strong habit of pronouncing any foreign word after that fashion, so you have kids who are perfectly happy to belt out things like ai-su-ku-ri-mu (icecream) and pat themselves on the back for a job well done. It's really funny.

Next (final!) Chapter: Ryoma prepares to leave for the U.S. Open, but goodbyes are especially difficult when you have to leave people behind.


	12. Separation

**Chapter Twelve:  
** Separation

Summary: Ryoma prepares to leave for the U.S. Open, but goodbyes are especially difficult when you have to leave people behind.

" _Time doesn't take away from friendship, nor does separation." ―_ _ **Tennessee Williams**_

* * *

"What's that, boy?"

Without thinking about what he was doing, Ryoma's hand closed around the object. It was exactly the wrong thing to do. It only made it obvious that what he held was embarrassing, and Nanjiro loved nothing more than invading his son's privacy.

Ryoma made a half-hearted attempt at deflection by shrugging a surly shoulder. "It's nothing."

"Really?" Nanjiro sat down on the bed, eying his son. His expression said, ' _Might as well fess up now and make this easier on both of us.'_.

"It's a present," Ryoma admitted, eyes straying to a letter sitting on his bedside table.

"A goodbye present," Nanjiro realized. Their impending departure was soon. The bags were already packed, piled up in the entrance way of the house. "Are you regretting your decision?"

Ryoma responded with a glare. "The best place for a tennis player isn't Japan."

He was quoting, the brat. However, despite it being true in general, things hadn't worked out that way for his boy. Coming back to Japan had taught Ryoma a hell of a lot more than exposure to a world-class tournament circuit even could have. Seigaku had taught him humility, how to push himself. Even more, he'd learned how to be a team player.

' _Maybe too well_ ,' he thought, looking again at the battered envelope which held his son's invitation to the U.S. Open. That Ryoma had considered rejecting the offer for the sake of a junior high school tournament still astonished him. Fortunately, it had not come to that. After days of agonizing, Ryoma had returned from practice looking calm and sure. There'd been no explanation. He just came up to Nanjiro and said, "Book the plane."

Now, sitting at the bedside and watching his boy roll his gift between his fingers, he was starting to get the idea. It was that mouthy punk again. "You don't have to be so moony. It's not like you won't see him again."

Ryoma spoke with uncharacteristic hesitation. "Before, I wouldn't have even –"

Nanjiro understood all too well. Until Rinko, he had never known anyone who could put up with him long term, and if anything, building lasting relationships had proven even more difficult for Ryoma. Now he had a whole team, plus the old hag and that cute little girl who followed him around. And as for Momoshiro…

"Ask him to come over once the season is over. Heck, I'll foot the bill," he offered.

That got Ryoma's attention. "Really?" he asked, and, much to Nanjiro's consternation, a tiny smirk appeared. "I knew you liked him."

Nanjiro grimaced. The truth was that he just didn't have it in him to dislike a person who'd been so good to his son. "He's a disrespectful smartass, but actually he reminds me of myself. Not as handsome, of course, and not a genius either, but he's still got a hell of a lot of potential." He looked at his son's downcast face. "But then, it's not about tennis, is it?"

Ryoma muttered, fingers flexing. "He's different."

Nanjiro understood. They were a lot of like, the two of them. "May I see?"

There was a moment's hesitation, and then Ryoma offered him the small object. It was a set of tiny rackets on a zipper pull, one red and one black. Shoulders tense, Ryoma said, "Stupidly sentimental, right?"

Nanjiro had the sense to forge teasing. "For that punk? Nah, I don't think so." He stood and headed toward the hall, but paused at the door and looked back. "I'm happy for you, boy. A good friend is worth more than a Grand Slam title." And then he winked. "I would know."

* * *

 _"Each friend represents a world in us,  
_ _a world possibly not born until they arrive,  
_ _and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born."  
_ **\- Anaïs Nin**

* * *

 **All done. Please let me know what you've thought of the series. I appreciate it!**


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